


(k)not an average job

by Sandrine Shaw (Sandrine)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alpha/Beta, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Bickering, Denial, Dirty Talk, First Time, Knotting, Large Cock, M/M, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-01-12 19:14:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18452897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandrine/pseuds/Sandrine%20Shaw
Summary: "Clara told me you don't usually take on alpha clients."Troy hesitates, taking a hit to buy himself some time to answer. The alcohol tastes smooth and earthy, and he relishes the way it burns down his throat and the warmth it leaves behind. "I usually stick to betas. Less chance to get... messy."





	(k)not an average job

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bagel_fish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bagel_fish/gifts).



> bagel_fish - You had so many excellent OW prompts, I was spoilt for choice. I hope you enjoy this fic!
> 
> Thanks to lileura for betaing!

 

"You must be Troy. Come on in."

Jonathan's smile is friendly, in a genuine, casual kind of way, none of the over-the-top cheerfulness or the leering appraisal Troy is used to from his normal type of client. Still, he lingers in the doorway when the unmistakable scent of _alpha_ hits him. It reminds him of all the reasons why this isn't like his usual kind of gig, and Troy once again questions his decision to agree to this job. But Clara had assured him that Jonathan's a good egg who will respect his limits, and Troy needs the money too much to afford being picky.

He tentatively steps into the apartment and closes the door behind himself, trying not to feel like a mouse who knowingly walked into a trap.

He's too much of a professional to snoop or take more than a brief, curious look around the spacious penthouse loft. But even from the perfunctory once-over, he can tell that Jonathan Malone is a man with a good eye for detail, and the money to make it happen. The wealth doesn't exactly surprise Troy – the agency's services don't come cheap – but the good taste does.

"Drink?" Jonathan asks.

He's already pouring them two glasses with the confident air of someone who asks questions he already knows the answer to, and for a moment, Troy is tempted to decline, just to see how Jonathan's gonna react. He curbs the rebellious impulse, not least because he would actually like a drink to calm his nerves, and it's not worth antagonizing a paying customer for.

"Sure." If his tone is a bit sharper than usual, well, there's nothing he can do about it.

He takes the proffered glass and tries not to bristle at the amused smile tugging at the corners of Jonathan's mouth.

"Clara told me you don't usually take on alpha clients."

Troy hesitates, taking a sip or five to buy himself some time to answer. The alcohol tastes smooth and earthy, and he relishes the way it burns down his throat and the warmth it leaves behind. "I usually stick to betas," he concedes at last. "Less chance to get... messy."

Jonathan gives him a knowing look. "Yes, Clara said you were adverse to knots. Pity."

Something about the casual brush-off sets Troy on edge. He grinds his teeth and puts the glass down on the table with a little more force than necessary, the clunk uncomfortably loud in the quietness.

"Problem?"

"Well, I'd say you're missing out, but beyond that, no. It's not an issue. Don't worry, I play by the rules when it comes to respecting my partners' boundaries."

Troy watches the alpha intently, trying to gauge his sincerity. He's ready to walk out of here if he feels any doubt that Jonathan will remain true to his word, but Jonathan looks casual and relaxed, leaning against the kitchen counter and sipping his scotch, and Troy is inclined to believe that he's not lying about it being not that big of a deal.

"Good to know. So, since we're on the same page and all, do you want to get this show on the road then?"

The sound of Jonathan's laughter, easy and full-bellied and warm, washes over Troy, and a flush of embarrassment heats his cheeks. He's normally better at this. But he's out of his comfort zone here and it sets him on edge in ways he didn't expect. He shakes his head in an attempt the clear his mind. "Sorry, I didn't mean to —"

"It's alright," Jonathan cuts off his apology. "I like that you're eager."

His lips twitch and he raises an eyebrow, like he's daring Troy to point out that it was discomfort rather than _eagerness_ that made him push to direct this thing back towards familiar ground. Troy gives him a deadpan look and refuses to waver when a sudden rush of pheromones hits him, the sweet, intoxicating smell of it so overpowering that it would likely send him to his knees in front of Jonathan if he were an omega.

But he's not, and all he feels is a faint buzz, like he had a second glass of scotch. It settles over him like a warm, comfortable blanket, easing the trepidation curling uncomfortably in his stomach, but it fails to make him feel an overwhelming need to please the alpha.

He snorts. "That shit doesn't work on me, man."

Jonathan has put away his glass and comes stalking towards him. When he reaches out, his hand curving around the side of Troy's neck, Troy doesn't feel inclined to pull away.

"I'd say it does exactly what I was going for," Jonathan says quietly.

He tilts up Troy's head, thumb stroking across his lower lip, and his eyes dart down to Troy's mouth. His gaze is heavy with intent, and Troy can _feel_ the kiss in a visceral way before it happens.

It starts soft, just a touch of lips against lips, like a suggestion, a gentle nudge, only growing bolder when Troy starts kissing back. His fingers tangle in Jonathan's hair, tugging at the smooth, silky strands, relishing in the small growl that tears from Jonathan's throat.

 _Gotcha_ , he thinks, his confidence peeking up, and he puts it all into the kiss, which grows deeper, harder. It's all tongue and wetness and heat, and the scent in the air becomes heavier. Troy feels desire stir in his gut, and he isn't sure if he's reacting to the pheromones or the kiss, or maybe some mixture of both – doesn't particularly care either.

Jonathan's palm feels almost inhumanly warm against against the sensitive skin of Troy's neck. It should be scary to be seized in such a vulnerable place, but instead, the touch is oddly steadying. The alpha's other hand has settled on Troy's hip and Jonathan's steering him backwards with sure, assertive movements, never stopping the kiss.

Troy lets himself be manhandled, barely pays attention to being pushed through the loft until the back of his legs hits the foot end of the bed, too distracted by the way Jonathan is exploring his mouth with thorough determination and by the sensation of those wonderfully warm, large hands on him.

Jonathan gives Troy's lip a final nip and then he breaks away. For a moment he seems almost regretful before a wicked smile flashes over his face. Troy doesn't have time think about what it means; he finds himself pushed backwards, tumbling down onto the mattress, enfolded by blue silk sheets that slide against his skin, almost criminally soft.

"Hey," he protests, but even to his own ears, it sounds half-hearted.

Standing above him, Jonathan is pulling off his tie and carelessly drops it to the floor. His grin widens. "Are you complaining? Because you don't look like you want to complain."

His eyes are so dark, the green rim of his iris is almost swallowed by the black, and they're measuring Troy with intent, gaze heavy like a touch. Troy wonders what Jonathan's seeing, looking at him like that; what kind of picture he must make lying spread out like this before the alpha.

He leans up on his elbows and wets his lips, satisfied when the gesture draws Jonathan's attention. "Not complaining. I'm just usually the one who's doing the seducing."

Such a dumb thing to say. As soon as the words are out, Troy wants to take them back.

But Jonathan seems more amused than anything. His suit jacket and shirt have joined the tie on the wooden floorboards, revealing golden skin and hard muscle. He looks too damn perfect, a physique like the asshole alpha jocks who used to push Troy around back at high school and on his college football team, who he used to hate and want at equal measure.

"You should stop taking on beta clients," Jonathan suggests, and Troy isn't quite sure if he genuinely misinterpreted Troy's bemusement or if he's deliberately twisting his words.

He frowns. "Maybe I like it that way."

There's no immediate response. Troy tries not to watch too obviously as Jonathan opens his pants. His belt makes a hissing noise when he pulls it through the loops, the leather creaking softly – and just like that, Troy is hard, anticipation making his blood pump faster through his veins.

Without pulling off his pants, Jonathan settles on the bed, moving towards Troy until he's half on top of him, hovering a few inches away without touching. Troy swallows, unable to look anywhere but up into the stormy green eyes fixing him like a bird of prey's before it's about to strike.

"Or maybe you don't."

Jonathan's tone is sly, but almost matter-of-fact. A statement, not a question.

The presumptuousness of some damn stranger telling Troy what he likes – like he knows him better than Troy knows himself, like he's an open book – makes his hackles rise. More so because Jonathan isn't wrong, as Troy's reaction proves. Even as the anger makes him want to lash out, his hard-on hasn't waned, and he can't deny that part of why he feels the need to keep pushing Jonathan is because he wants the alpha to push back.

"Fuck you."

He grinds the words out between clenched teeth, anger and arousal mingling into an unholy, volatile mixture. He has never felt this... _feral_ , never felt the animal part of him so close to the surface, and it's scary and exhilarating at once. Maybe it's always like that, with an alpha.

Or maybe it's just this particular alpha who's so good at getting under his skin.

Jonathan laughs quietly. "Not the way this is gonna go, kid."

"Well, come on then, _alpha_. Show me what's so fucking special about getting under you," Troy taunts, throwing the challenge out like a gauntlet that he knows Jonathan won't be able to resist picking up. He spreads his legs a little, showing off where his cock is visibly straining against the denim.

"Always happy to offer some education," Jonathan shoots back.

He reaches down to undress Troy with deft fingers, slipping his shirt over his head, undoing his jeans, batting away Troy's hands when he tries to help or moves to touch Jonathan. Troy is certain that he's taking his sweet time because he knows too damn well how impatient Troy is. Those stupid talented fingers brush almost casually across Troy's skin – briefly dipping into the hollow of his throat, tracing the juncture of his neck where his pulse races, rabbit-fast. They lightly tease a nipple, draw down the line of his sternum – fleeting touches that drive Troy mad, never lingering.

Not being allowed to return the favor, all he can do is lie back and let Jonathan do whatever the fuck he wants, which he's sure is the whole point of the exercise. It's sensual and arousing and frustrating all at once, and it takes all of his willpower not to beg for more, even when he obediently lifts his hips so Jonathan can pull his pants off.

He's so used to the brief, feather-light sensation of fingertips brushing against his flushed skin that it takes him entirely by surprise when Jonathan changes course and wraps his hand around Troy's cock, firmly enclosing it in heat.

"Oh fuck," Troy groans, dropping his head back on the mattress and squeezing his eyes shut, overwhelmed by sensations.

Jonathan gives his cock a couple of strokes – firm, sure, a little too much friction, just the way Troy likes it – before he pulls his hand away again, eliciting an unbidden moan from deep inside Troy's throat.

And then, finally, he's closing the space between them, covering Troy's body with his own. Skin on skin at last. Nothing between then but the sleek fabric of Jonathan's dress pants, brushing against Troy's legs and his groin, tantalizingly moving across the sensitive head of Troy's cock, pre-cum leaking into the silk, probably ruining those pants for good. Even riding the wave of arousal, Troy can spare the spite to feel a little gleeful about it. Serves Jonathan right, he thinks.

The satisfied smile on Jonathan's face when he looks down at Troy suggests he doesn't care too much.

Troy scowls up at him and the smile broadens. Jonathan steals a quick, thorough kiss before trailing his lips down Troy's neck, the coarse hair of his beard scratching against the tender skin. It sends shivers down Troy's spine. Jonathan mouths his throat, settling in the juncture between his neck and his shoulder, where the omegas have their scent glands. Troy's just about to tell Jonathan that he can spare himself the trouble because he's a fucking beta and the attention is lost on him, but the scrape of Jonathan's teeth across the delicate spot forestalls the protest. Jonathan bites down – firmer than a nibble but not hard enough to break the skin, and it feels like there's a direct line from there down to Troy's cock, like a rush of electricity is running under his skin.

He gasps, broken swear words tumbling from his lips as Jonathan's tongue laps against the bitemark.

Troy's hands come up to Jonathan's back, but they barely make contact before his wrists are snatched in an iron grip, firm like shackles.

"Oh no, you don't." Jonathan pulls Troy's arms over his head and pushes them down into the mattress, holding him down like that. "You just lie back and take it."

The order almost makes Troy's earlier anger flare up again. His animal nature stirs, and he bares his teeth. "You want me to take it? Then finally fucking _take me_. You're way overdressed."

His voice sounds _raw_ and he hates it, hates the neediness he's showing, wishing once again that this was just another one of his regular gigs where he's unruffled and in control and never feels like the rug's been pulled out from underneath him.

"Getting impatient? Well, like I said, I like it when you're eager."

Jonathan gives his wrists a little squeeze with an implied warning to stay put, and something about the way he looks at Troy makes him comply, even when Jonathan lets go and moves back, finally getting rid off his pants and the boxers – black silk, because of-fucking-course – he wears beneath.

The sight of his cock makes Troy's nerves stir. Technically, he knew that alpha cocks were... big, but there's a difference between knowing and _seeing_ , and more difference between seeing and knowing he was about to be fucked by one. He watches, transfixed, as Jonathan gives himself a few strokes, his big hands looking almost tiny moving up and down that massive cock.

Jonathan seems to be able to read his apprehension on his face. "Don't worry, you can take it."

Troy swallows and nods and tries to revive his earlier cheek. "As long as you slick up properly. I'm not an omega, remember?"

Jonathan snorts out a chuckle. He leans across Troy to get a bottle of lube from the nightstand, pouring a generous amount into his hand and spreading it across his cock. When he's done, he grins up at Troy.

"Trust me, kid, there's no mistaking you for an omega," he says, and before Troy can make up his mind whether to feel insulted, Jonathan grabs Troy's leg and pulls him towards him, lifting his ass up a little. Without warning, two slick fingers push against his hole. His body resists for a brief moment, and then it seems to just... give in, the digits sliding inside easily. They move cautiously at first, back and forth, scissoring, easing the passage and opening him up.

Troy's cock throbs when Jonathan starts pistoning his fingers in earnest. His eyes flutter shut and when he opens then again, he's staring straight into Jonathan's. There's something almost uncomfortably intimate about it, and Troy turns his head aside, squeezing his eyes shut again and riding out the waves of pleasure.

All too soon, the fingers retreat, and Troy feels the blunt, fat head of Jonathan's cock dragging against his opening. It's never going to fit, he thinks, with an edge of hysteria but too much pride to voice the thought and put a stop to this. And then Jonathan presses inside, past the initial resistance, agonizingly slow. He makes Troy feel every half-inch, the massive girth all but splitting him apart, the burn unbelievable.

Troy whines and thrashes against the covers, almost grateful when Jonathan's hands are on his wrists again, holding him down.

He loses the sense of time. The first breach seems takes eternities and is over far too soon, and then Jonathan is balls deep inside of him. Troy stares up at him with wild eyes, barely believing that he managed to take that cock, feeling absurdly proud.

And then Jonathan starts moving. Shallow thrusts that become more and more forceful with every in and out, and it's too much too fast, as if the air's being punched out of Troy's lungs.

"Look at you, taking it like you were made for it." Jonathan's voice has lost its cool, collected calm now. It's deeper than before, almost hoarse and audibly strained. Beads of sweat are running down the side of his face, catching in his beard, and Troy wants to lick them up but he doesn't have the energy to move. "So good for me, even when you're fighting it. Especially when you're fighting it."

The praise makes Troy keen with pleasure, goes to his cock even faster than the way Jonathan's thick alpha dick is rubbing against his prostate with each thrust.

"Why would I want some pliant, boring omega when I can have this?" Jonathan leans down and puts his teeth against Troy's neck again, biting down over the same spot as before.

Troy couldn't speak even if he had an answer, but Jonathan doesn't seem inclined to wait for one anyway. 

"Is it like this with your little beta suitors?" he asks, covering Troy in bitemarks and fucking into him mercilessly, and Troy helplessly shakes his head. He never felt like this, turned inside out, marked and consumed and fucking _owned_. Never knew he wanted to feel like this.

Jonathan's thrusts lose their steady rhythm, becoming erratic and more shallow, and when he starts coming, Troy can feel the cock inside him swelling up. It almost surprises him when the alpha pulls back, easing out of him, true to his word. It should gratify Troy, but instead, a horribly empty feeling settles in the pit of his stomach, like something is being taken from him that he isn't willing to give.

Before he can think about what he's doing, his legs come up to close around Jonathan's hips, stopping his retreat.

"Don't," he finds himself says. "Do it. I want it."

Jonathan stills, half inside of him, the beginnings of his knot pulling against the stretched rim of muscle. "Are you sure? You don't have to."

Whatever taunts he was throwing Troy's way earlier, there's no trace of them in his voice now, and it's part of _why_ Troy is sure.

He nods. "Yeah. Come on, alpha. Give me your knot."

Seconds tick by when Jonathan is just staring down at him, eyes narrowed, like he's trying to read Troy's mind and figure out if he means it. Well, he fucking does, and he wishes Jonathan would get on with it already, suddenly hungry for that knot in a way he can't remember ever having been hungry before.

And then, at last, Jonathan is pushing back into him. Troy feels his cock throbbing inside of him, feels it growing thicker at the root, slowly expanding.

It's — something. Intense and overwhelming, dull pain mixing with sharp pleasure, like being torn apart and put together again. Just when he thinks he can't take more, Jonathan's hand closes around Troy's cock again and fuck, it's _good_. Jonathan's fingers are so clever, his touch so sure, and between the heat and the friction and the steady pressure against Troy's prostate from the knot, it doesn't take much until his climax hits him.

He comes all over Jonathan's hand with a low groan, his cum striping the skin of their stomachs and thighs, and he feels like he's flying, like he's free falling and doesn't need to worry about crashing to the ground.

With his eyes closed, he tries to catch his breath.

He feels sweaty and exhausted, hollowed out. Jonathan's knot is still wedged inside of him, but he can already feel it going down. He isn't sure how he feels about that. There's an odd sense of bereavement that he doesn't understand and doesn't want to examine too closely.

Bracing himself, he opens his eyes and meets Jonathan's gaze. He doesn't know what to expect. Satisfaction, probably. Triumph, maybe. After all, he's thoroughly proved his point, making Troy all but beg for what he previously claimed he didn't want.

Instead, Jonathan looks down at him in what almost looks like wonder, like he too didn't expect tonight to turn out the way it did. He reaches towards him and slides his hands through Troy's sweat-matted curls in a gesture that's almost tender, and possessive in a way that should make Troy rush to get out of here but instead only makes him tighten his legs around Jonathan.

"So, same time next month?" Jonathan asks, eyebrow raised.

Troy huffs out a laugh and pulls him down into a sweet, lingering kiss.

End


End file.
